


Loyalties

by Snowfluff



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic, Betrayal, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ficlet, Gen, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Nightmares, Non-Graphic Violence, Not Really Character Death, Out of Character, Possibly Pre-Slash, Protectiveness, everyone does, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 21:27:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2747708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowfluff/pseuds/Snowfluff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A entry from a sorcerer's journal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loyalties

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've ever written fan fiction that's not Supernatural based. partly in first person(also the first time I've done that), probably really out of character and inaccurate. Eh I tried.

“I specifically recall the cold stone floor of the dungeon on my bare feet as I paced the length of my cell, which was odd, now that I think about it; but it didn’t strike me at the time. Seriously though, I wonder-now that I think about it- where were my boots at the time? Why had they been taken away? Damn, I liked those boots and was evidently about to be denied the opportunity wearing them to my own funeral, that’s not even fair. If my recollection is accurate, though it may not be as the memories are more of an idea then actual recollection, As though I was told briefly told what happened but don’t recall it firsthand;  I was readying for bed the night before when Camelot’s finest stormed into the physicians rooms under the pretense of arresting me. Things are especially vague as I was dragged from my room, -perhaps I had already taken my boots off in preparation for bed when I was seized? And brought before King Arthur to be read my crimes. Although how they came to be learned of in the first place is lost to the blur of events, perhaps it was not disclosed at all, but I was dropped in a cell for the night and my burning was to be held first thing in the morning. Perhaps it was my need for time to think of a plan of sorts, but I’ve always felt execution was more of an afternoon thing.

I remember chancing a glance out the small cell window which overlooked the courtyard, I immediately felt as though I might be sick all over my cell as I watched the king’s men gathering wood into a large pile in the center, which struck me with humorless amusement would be my grave. I knew what was coming before I looked but I still felt overwhelmed as it hit me what was actually about to happen, that it was real and inevitable. I’ve had countless nightmares about being found out and executed by the king, first Uther and now Arthur, but I had always hoped that Arthur would stand by me, stand by me as I had done for him countless times; otherwise he wasn’t really the friend I thought he was.  I tore my gaze away from the window as I couldn’t bring myself to watch any longer as the men I had once dared to call my friends built where I would meet my end. I leaned against the stone wall as I clutched my stomach and clenched my teeth in an attempt to will away the wave of nausea that threated to make a mess of the floor, which wouldn’t have bothered me in the slightest if the king himself had to clean it afterwards, in fact the thought of the mighty king Arthur on his hands and knees grumbling as he scrubbed vomit out of the cracks of the dungeon floor brought a halfhearted smile to my face.

But alas, some poor servant would have to clean it later and I had _been_ that poor servant, having to clean up after the knights after a few too many drinks, enough to know cleaning vomit off of, or- gods forbid- out, of _anything_   sucked arse, so I tried to save a (former-I’m pretty sure if I’m about to be executed I’m no longer expected to show up for work in the mornings)fellow servant that dreadful task.

 After a few moments of deep breathing  and force of will I felt safe enough I wouldn’t lose my lunch and resumed my pacing, desperately looking for a means of escape. I had freed myself from those very cells more times then I cared to recall and had been met with little resistance making my escape, and now that my life literally depended on it there were none to be found. The security must have been increased- guess the king didn’t take kindly to his prisoners escaping; imagine that. And as such I was forced to patiently await my untimely demise by the hand of the man I had- still have- so much faith in.

I recall how the cold metal of the cuffs- they must have been iron, that bound my hands behind my back scraped and bruised my wrists, which no matter how often the knights and the bloody _king_ like to tease me, are not dainty. Honestly though, the shackles were a little redundant weren’t they? Seeing as I was _locked in the sodding dungeon_ as it was, it wasn’t like I could get free and make my escape if only I could only get those pesky cuffs off(I actually may have been able too, but they didn’t need to know that)!

Over cautious bastards, the lot of them.

It seemed like no time at all(it might have been, it’s not like I had any real way of telling time) that two knights showed up out of nowhere and unlocked my cell, damn, if only I had gotten those blasted cuffs off I could have made my escape. The knights, sirs Gwaine and Lancelot, which was extremely bitter seeing as I had always thought they were some of my closest friends (which is actually probably the main reason why they were the ones doing it in the first place), grabbed me by my shoulders and forced me out of my cell, which was extremely unnecessary by the way, and through the castle toward the courtyard. If I remember correctly I went completely limp not twenty feet from the cell for no apparent reason, forcing them to physically drag me behind them the rest of the way.  I did it for no other reason than to be difficult, I’m sure, which admittedly- was unfair and they didn’t entirely deserve that, but it was mildly amusing to hear them curse and sigh as we made our way to my live cremation; it was my last act of defiance, if you will. What were they going to do about it? Kill me more?

 I remember how the ground scraped and gnashed against my bare heels, which admittedly hurt more than a little, but the pained grunts and frustrated sighs from the knights as they tried to force me up a set of stairs was well worth it, and there are a lot of stairs in the castle.

It all seemed too real, the grit of the gravel on my feet as they dragged me into the courtyard, the coarse burn of the ropes as they tied me to the stake, the jeering of the crowd that had come to watch me burn, even the slightly humid weather; it seemed like it might rain, and wouldn’t that be a little ironic? If they tried to burn me and they couldn’t get a light because it was raining?

I remember it all too vividly, the faces of towns folks as they tied me to the stake, so full of fear and disdain, the faces of the knights, full of disgust and betrayal, I remember thinking it was funny how they’re the ones who look betrayed as they ready to burn me alive; I remember the disappointment on Gaius’s face, no grief or sorrow for his lost ward, just disappointment.

I remember looking at the king, the very king who I believed, and will continue to believe until the day I die, is destined to restore Camelot and bring peace to all of Albion. And who I had thought of as my best friend, and finding his normally composed face full of hatred and betrayal, his blue eyes blazing with fury as he looked at me with such disgust I thought I might be sick again, and I had already been denied my favorite boots to my own burning, I’d rather not soil the rest of my clothes, not like it would matter in a few minutes- but still.

I remember how Queen Guinevere was standing beside Arthur, there were tears running down her cheeks but her eyes held no kindness for me, only the bitter betrayal of a friend. I remember Arthur giving the signal to light the fire, and I remember how the flames licked at my feet and then my legs, then soon the rest of my body, I remember the white hot pain as the flames charred my skin, the smell of the smoke, I distinctly remember the smell of my own burning flesh as the sound of my agonized screaming filled my ears while the fire slowly tore me apart. I remember looking at Arthur again, searching, albeit stupidly, for some sign of sadness at the loss of a trusted and loyal servient and valued friend, but his eyes held no remorse for me, no shred of the kindness I know him to have, only more contempt. The world was growing dark, I wondered if he or anyone else for that matter would even grieve for me as a lost friend, rather than the lying trader they believed me to be.

The next thing I knew I was jolting up in the cot in my room with a silent scream, so I thankfully didn’t wake Gaius, gods know I had done so before, and I wasn’t , nor am I ever, particularly in the mood for his concerned fussing after one of my nightmares.

I looked at my trembling hands and gripped the sheets firmly as I tried to get a hold of myself, to remind myself it wasn’t real, that Arthur wasn’t watching as I burned to death, that I was safe for the time being, that I was still thought of as their loyal friend, but it had all _felt_ so real.

It always feels so real.

I wonder, somewhat bitterly, if this is all a dream too? If I’ll awaken in some cell about to be killed by the vary person I’ve risked my life countless times to save? It’s been getting increasingly difficult to tell reality from my own overactive imagination and I would not be surprised to learn I had imagined my own safety in the face of my demise. I’ve had, and will likely continue to have, many nightmares and sleepless nights, and I’m no longer sure what’s a dream and what isn’t, I’m always half expecting to wake up in a start and realize I was asleep the whole time.

I’m just grateful this latest nightmare wasn’t one of the ones where I helplessly watch as everyone I love meets a grim end, those are significantly more painful to bare and tend to linger on my conscious longer.  I push off the thoughts and wipe the tears running down my face and soaking into my already sweat damp clothes- I plan to change into dry ones once the tremors in my hands have lessened. I’m sat at my desk now as I write this - as I dare not sleep again, to ease my thoughts.

In a few hours I’ll fetch Arthur’s breakfast and head to his chambers to wake him, in a few hours I’ll pretend nothing ever happened and smile like I always do, no one will be the wiser and it will all be over.”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Gwaine finished reading the shaky scrawl of Merlin’s normally steady writing in the leather bound journal in the dim firelight of the camp site. He closed his eyes hard and took a deep breath to fight back the tired sting at the backs of his eyes. He felt wary just from reading that and felt shameful, in part for disrespectfully invading Merlin’s privacy and in part for not knowing how his friend was quietly suffering. The knights were deathly quiet, as they had been since Gwaine had started reading. Most pointedly staring at the ground with guilt on their faces, but the few unable to tear their eyes away from the sleeping form of Merlin, who was entirely oblivious to Gwaine reading his journal out loud to the king and knights, had guilt and empathy clearly warping their features. The mood around the flickering fire was more somber then Gwaine could recall it ever being, even before battles.  The knight honestly hadn’t intended to blatantly invade Merlin’s privacy and he certainly hadn’t meant to read his friend’s deepest thoughts aloud- but Merlin had been out before he hit the ground, and with the realizations of his sleepless nights who could blame him- the poor boy was probably exhausted. Gwaine had noticed the little leather bound book slide from the enterer breast pocket of Merlin’s jacket and gotten curious. He had intended to tuck it back into his sleeping friends coat and forget about it but he couldn’t help but peek inside. He read a few entries before realizing it was a journal, he didn’t even know Merlin _had_ a journal, and had snorted loudly in mirth when the realization struck him, accidently alerting the others to his less than noble actions. They had rolled their eyes in amused exasperation and told him to put it back, that he shouldn’t be reading Merlin’s personal thoughts, but he wasn’t exactly known for his listening skills and decided to read the next entry aloud, which he realizes now was a mistake. Gwaine had noted earlier that Merlin never explicitly said anything about his magic in the journal, probably to keep prying eyes like himself from accidently stumbling upon his secret, so Gwaine wasn’t particularly worried about reading more un proofed- not that he doubted that everyone else already knew, subtle that boy was not, but he didn’t actually expect to find something so closely guarded to Merlin’s chest. Gwaine swore to himself and vowed that he would have to keep an eye on Merlin form then on, and he had no doubt the others would as well.

Arthur cleared his throat loudly and drew his solemn men’s attention and said “Alright that’s enough, all of you. We ride East in the morning and we need our rest.” He paused and looked at the knight despairingly “And Sir Gwaine, I told you not to read Merlin’s journal…” He said weary.

Arthur gritted his teeth and made a silent vow to keep a better eye on Merlin’s moods and to make sure his fool of a manservant was getting proper rest in the future. He vowed to make sure nothing like Merlin’s nightmares ever actually came to pass- the moron’s magic be dammed.


End file.
